When Mrs. Hadley afterwards spoke of Marjorie Wilkinson, she called her "the girl with the shining eyes." For when the machine stopped in front of the house in Trenton where she was visiting, and the young people ran up the steps to greet her, Marjorie was still radiant from her great discovery. For a time John's mother, who immediately took a tremendous liking to the girl, attributed her joy to anticipation of the pleasure that awaited her. But later she realized that the cause for it was something deeper, something within Marjorie's heart.

John, too, admitted reluctantly to himself that he was not a part of her happiness. It had, he realized, something to do with the Girl Scouts, and especially with her brief visit at that factory. But what it could possibly be, he had not the slightest idea.

The girls soon became entirely at home in their hostess's house, singing and playing the piano until it was time to dress for dinner.

When Marjorie came downstairs again, dressed in the pale blue georgette which she had worn at the sophomore reception, John Hadley thought he had never seen anyone so beautiful. Suddenly he realized, although he was only nineteen years of age, how tremendously he cared for this girl. Working hard all year, partially earning his way through college, he had little time to write to her; again he wondered what she had been doing, and whether any of the other Boy Scouts had claimed her attention. With a pang of jealousy, he became aware of the fact that she did not care for him as he did for her—to the exclusion of all others of the opposite sex. But John Hadley forgot that Marjorie was only sixteen—three years younger than himself.

Neither of the girls had ever attended a college function of any kind before, and they were thrilled with the experience. In spite of the fact that many of the other girls wore bobbed hair, and all had short skirts, they felt exceptionally youthful. Marjorie felt shy, too, and at the end of almost every dance she brought her partner over to Mrs. Hadley's corner, as if seeking her protection. The woman was subtly flattered; if Marjorie had tried to win her affection, she could not have chosen a more direct method. But she was all unconscious of the impression she was making.

Although the affair was not to be over until twelve, the boys had not filled out the girls' programs for the last dances. So, in accordance with Mrs. Wilkinson's wishes, they started for home in the machine by half eleven. To her surprise, Marjorie found that she was sleepy; and making no attempt at conversation, she leaned back against the cushions. In a few minutes she was fast asleep, her head resting against Mrs. Hadley's shoulder.

Sunday passed quickly for the girls, for they were both tired out, and their parents let them sleep late. At three o'clock they took the train for school.

"Nothing but rehearsals!" yawned Ruth. "Don't you wish the operetta were over?"

"Yes—and no," replied Marjorie, thinking of Frieda's promise. "I don't mind rehearsing much. But, then, I haven't a big part."

"No; neither you nor I can sing wonderfully, can we? But didn't it make you feel the least bit badly, Marj, after being heroine last year, to have to take a back seat this time?"

Marjorie regarded Ruth with curiosity. This, in a nutshell, summed up Ruth's character. She could never bear to "take a back seat."

"Not a bit! With basket-ball and everything, I was glad not to have to work so hard. And then I've got my canoe again, you know!"

"Thanks to me!" said Ruth, proudly.

"Thanks to father!" returned Marjorie, a little sharply. It was tiresome the way Ruth was always fishing for compliments.

"I say, though," observed Ruth, "I wish I could earn that medal for locating Frieda Hammer. It would be the first medal of merit in the troop!"

"Medal!" exclaimed Marjorie. "Goodness, I had forgotten all about it!"

"And had you forgotten all about her, too?"

"No, indeed," replied Marjorie, warmly. "She'll turn up some day. And if she does, Ruth, you've got to forget that she ever stole anything. For she's made it up, you know!"

Marjorie looked straight into Ruth's eyes, and seemed to pierce into the hidden motives of her life. Ruth lowered her lids under the penetrating gaze, and answered, somewhat doggedly,

"All right! Whatever you say!"

"Thanks, Ruth!"

The train arrived just on time and the girls went directly to their rooms. Marjorie proceeded to tell Lily all about the dance.

"Is that what makes you look so happy, Marj?"

"Partly; but there's something else, too."

"Don't you want to tell me about it?" This softly, without curiosity.

"I'm dying to, Lil; but I'm so afraid it won't come true, I just don't dare. It's too wonderful!"

"It's about Frieda."

"Lily Andrews!" cried Marjorie, aghast. "How did you ever guess it?"

"From your expression. I know you pretty well now, Marj!"

But Marjorie would not permit herself to tell even Lily; she had given her word to Frieda that she would keep it a secret, and she meant to keep her promise.

Saturday came with weather clear, warm, and beautiful. The operetta, which was really a spring festival, was to be given in the open-air amphitheater of the school, with the natural scenery of the woods and the lake for a background. The Scouts, in their filmy white and green costumes and flowing hair, looked like the fairy and wood-people they were to represent. Ethel Todd had the leading part; Ruth and Marjorie were merely in the chorus.

Marjorie dressed early, and, slipping a cape over her costume, went to meet each train. Finally, on the last one to arrive before the play was to begin, she was rewarded. A neat-looking Girl Scout in khaki uniform stepped from the train and hurried towards her.

It was Frieda Hammer!

The girls kissed each other and went up the walk arm in arm. Marjorie knew that Miss Phillips and most of the Scouts would be behind the scenes at that time, so she took Frieda straight to her mother and father. She merely introduced her as a "Girl Scout from Trenton," placed her beside her mother and Jack, and went back of the scenes.

"May we have a little meeting after the play?" she begged Miss Phillips. "Right here—it will only take a second! Oh, please!"

The Captain consented, for she was too busy to argue.

The operetta was charming, and splendidly performed; it was pronounced the prettiest thing ever given at Miss Allen's. During the intermission the Principal told the audience about the Scout canoe trip, stating that the proceeds from this play would be used to buy food, and that an anonymous friend had offered to supply the canoes.

After the final chorus was over, Marjorie appeared immediately—almost miraculously, it seemed to Frieda—among the audience, and sought her family. She was delighted to find Jack and Frieda laughing and chatting pleasantly, quite as if they had known each other all their lives. Could this be the same girl who had uttered such harsh words to Mrs. Johnson last fall, and slammed the door in their faces? She had changed utterly; suffering, responsibility, kindness, work, and the influence of the Girl Scout principles in her life had all helped to accomplish it.

"I want you to come back and meet the members of our troop," she said, taking Frieda's hand. "They are waiting—but they won't wait long."

She found the girls gathered around Miss Phillips, intoxicated with their success, but impatient of the delay that kept them from joining their friends in the audience.

"Captain! Girls!" interrupted Marjorie, out of breath from her haste and excitement. "I want to introduce a Girl Scout from Pine Cone troop of Trenton. But," she added,—"first of all she belongs to Pansy troop. Miss Frieda Hammer!"

The girls could only gasp at these words; for it was not until after a second look that they recognized the country girl their troop had tried to adopt. The transformation was wonderful, the triumph complete! And they all realized that it was Marjorie's!

"And you're a second-class Scout!" cried Ethel, noticing the clover on her sleeve.

"And—own—a—pioneer—badge!" said Ruth, in amazement. "Why, you can go on the canoe trip!"

"I only won it last Saturday," said Frieda. "Oh, I should love to go on your canoe trip—but—I don't belong to Pansy troop!"

"You certainly do!" protested Lily.

"I tell you what I could do!" cried Frieda, with a flash of inspiration. "Do you need a cook?"

"Indeed we do," answered Miss Phillips. "I said only yesterday that we must get some one. Can you cook?"

"I think so!"

"Then you're hired!"

"Hurray for our new Scout!" they all cried, linking arms in a great chain.

"And for our 'Good Turn!'" exclaimed Ruth. "It's done at last."

"By Marjorie Wilkinson!" added Miss Phillips. Then, under her breath, "The Truest Girl Scout!"

The next volume in this series will tell of the Girl Scouts' Canoe Trip.

THE END

The
Girl Scouts
Series

BY EDITH LAVELL

A new copyright series of Girl Scouts stories by
an author of wide experience in Scouts' craft, as
Director of Girl Scouts of Philadelphia.

Clothbound, with Attractive Color Designs.

PRICE, 65 CENTS EACH.

THE GIRL SCOUTS AT MISS ALLEN'S SCHOOL
THE GIRL SCOUTS AT CAMP
THE GIRL SCOUTS' GOOD TURN
THE GIRL SCOUTS' CANOE TRIP
THE GIRL SCOUTS' RIVALS